


Fathers and daughters

by cortchuzska



Series: Of suns and roses [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Childhood, Father-Daughter Relationship, House Martell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:46:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shamelessly indulging myself; the one thing I enjoy more than Doran&Oberyn bickering are their little snakes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tower of the Princesses

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [La Torre delle Principesse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/417902) by [Gornemant (cortchuzska)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/Gornemant)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn and Doran Martell as single dads, together bringing up their children

“You can play the-princesses-in-the-tower.”

“But I _am_ a Princess.” Arianne claimed.

“If we can't leave this room, we _are_ prisoners.” Tyene stated.

“It makes no sense to pretend to be someone we already are.” They agreed. “It's no fun.”

Oberyn smiled at children's faultless logic; a Citadel maester could do no better.

His daughter insisted. “We _need_ to go play outside.”

“At the Water Gardens.” Her cousin specified.

Fever made some children dull and drowsy; to others, it was an energy booster, and that was the present case.

“Where is Garin? Please call him here!”

“I want to play with my sisters.”

The cousins' cheeks were dotted with red spots: two ill children to take care of were enough.

“You can play with me, after you drink your potion.”

The girls looked doubtfully at the cup in his hands, full of glistening smaragdine oily fluid.

“I don't like maesters' medicine.”

“I myself brewed it.”

Most people would justly mistrust anything from Oberyn's alchemy lab; not his family little girls.He crouched on a gold tooled leather cushion by their bedside, and drew forth a spoon.

“It has a foul smell.”

“And it looks nasty.”

“We are not going to take it.”

No one would charge Oberyn Martell with his brother Doran's patience; but with their children, he was just as persevering. His patience was too valuable to be spent with people who weren't worth of it; he saved it for whom he loved the most, and with daughters such as his own, he had not much left to waste.

“How can it be that a Lady of Dorne like you are, Arianne, is afraid of a spoonful of medicine?”

She swallowed it up with a grimace; and spat out most of it.

“It's awful!”

“Eat your rice pudding afterwards then.” Oberyn scooped some and pushed it to his niece's lips.

“I _hate_ rice pudding.” Arianne protested, but she ate it nonetheless, hoping to mask the concoction bitter taste.

“Are you being less brave than your cousin Arianne, Tyene? You are mine own daughter!”

The second spoonful reached its final destination, and Tyene resolutely swallowed it; Oberyn ran his hand through her blonde hair and smiled proudly at her.

“Can we play now?”

“Another spoonful yet, while I tell you a story.”

The cousins stayed still, mesmerized. His stories were better, more exotic, and wildly fancier than any fictional tale they had ever heard; Oberyn had been to far away lands and lived the strangest and most amazing adventures: and they were all _real_.

Arianne and Tyene valiantly confronted with their potion.

“If you promise you'll be that fearless even tomorrow, we can read this together now.”

Oberyn sat by an ivory inlaid book stand and showed them a binding hinged in Valyrian steel they well knew. Till now the cousins had only glimpsed at the illuminated manuscript from afar, when he would read to them: children were not allowed to such precious antiquities.

The girls would not that easily yield. “Let's see it first.” Arianne and Tyene sat astride on his knees; and he opened the book. The children gaped in awe. He turned the first page; they read; then the second. He stopped.

“Promise now!” He nuzzled Arianne, his hand feeling her forehead. “Give me your word, Princess!”

“I do. You have my word, as a Dorne Princess.” She pledged dignifiedly.

“And your word, as a Lady of Dorne, is binding to your subjects as well, isn't it?” He watched fixedly at them. The cousins exchanged a glance, and nodded their endorsement.

They went on reading, Oberyn explaining from time to time some difficult passage; at length the girls were dozing on his lap. “Time you go to sleep, my little ladies.”

They yawned. “May we continue tomorrow?”

He hauled them up into his arms and laid them on their bed. The children were quietly breathing.

He suddenly realized the lithe warm thing he had been cuddling would likely be some day his liege lady, his own House head, and her words would be binding to him as well. His brother Doran was many years older than him, responsibilities and power were too taxing on his not so good health; as House Martell eldest, Prince Oberyn would have to declare, under Tower of the Sun dome: “You are my Princess, now and forever.” and the vault would then echo the proclamation.

Hopefully, his own daughters' lives would be happier and easier than his niece's one.

Prince Oberyn knelt and kissed her garments hem. “Now and forever!”

\--o--

Doran was standing on the doorsill and beckoned him.

“Back from Sunspear council already?” He whispered.

“I let slighter affairs to counsellors. What's their use then?”

To his brother, there were no such things as slighter affairs: he was over-worrying about Arianne.

He assured him. “Fever is still high, but they'll recover soon.”

“I'll be with them now; you can go.”

“If they wake up, try to get them drink a little more potion.” The cup was almost empty.

Oberyn left the room and strode past the door.

“Where are you going, brother? Who is it this time; a she or a he?”

He hurried on with a wicked smile. “You'll never guess.”

“I will. I'll wait for red dots, and I'll easily spot your beloved.”

Oberyn cursed under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all agree Oberyn is pretty awesome, but why is he doomed to be depicted as having sex? He is the coolest uncle any little girl would dream of.  
> Father's Day card


	2. Durro mut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they were ten Arianne had stolen a flagon of wine, and the two of them had gotten drunk together.

“Tyene and Arianne were heading downstairs last time I saw them.”

Oberyn hunkered down by his youngest. “Sarella, speak up. You told they were up to something.”

“They were, but they never allow me to come with them.”

“Come on, did it ever stop you from following anyway?”

“I tried, but for once they got away!” repeated for the umpteenth time an aggravated Sarella.

“What do you mean you lost the scent?” Oberyn replied sternly. “It's not like you to let them give you the slip! Not that I approve of finking out, but you can't always play by the rules either.”

“I was skulking behind, but a silly cat meowed and rubbed my legs begging for the usual under chin scratch, Tyene looked back and I had to slink quickly behind a pillar; then they were gone.” Answered Sarella, abashed.

Hotah had already reported, Sunspear palace gates were guarded, and he would personally make short a head any man who had let out his little ladies.

“Don't.” Doran cut him off. “If needs be, even the last pot head would serve and comb out the Shadow City for Arianne and Tyene.”

The cousins were still nowhere to be found, noon was getting closer, a frenzied worry crept over the self-collected Prince of Dorne and the fearless Red Vipe both; to put it shortly Doran and Oberyn were close to freaking out. The former questioned Areo once more, while the latter went on grilling his own daughters.

Obara was back panting, and wagged her head.

“No nag rustled. Nary a broken bridle, not a worn out saddle is missing.”

Oberyn stifled a curse and punched the wall.

Doran scowled at him darkly. “Get a grip, brother.”

A rap at the door broke the sudden silence and Areo hurried at the door.

Timoth, whose family had been waiting on the Martells from the beginning of time, and who knew every nook and cranny of the Old Palace, hawked as he entered the Prince's solar, and announced the missing had been found.

“What befell to them, do tell?” bid the Prince of Dorne.

“Didn't you bring our girls here?” Oberyn attacked. “What are you waiting for, in the Stranger's name?”

“They were soundly slumbering and I thought better not to wake them.”

“Gods forbid!” Doran gave a shiver. “The sleeping illness...”

“Someone fetch the maester, you lazy bums!” Bellowed Oberyn. “If they injured themselves while collapsing suddenly into sleep, you will pay for it. Where are they? Get back your tongue and quickly, before I have to pull out every word from you with hot pincers.”

“No sudden illness, it was.” Timoth replied dignifiedly, as the elderly and widely respected member of the household he was. “Your little ladies are dozing peacefully in a buttery by the kitchens.”

“By the Chrone's withered cunt, why would they sneak into a dusty storeroom for a nap?”

“Oberyn, stop chiming in. That's my solar, I do the questioning.” Doran huffed. “Please go on, Timoth. The whole story, from the beginning, and orderly, if you would.”

“Belandra heard a loud purring noise from a pantry, and thought it the tomcat we had been chasing for days. She tried to open it, but it was latched from within, and called for me to help her. I forced it, she set slowly the door ajar, and I was ready to catch the damn beast as soon as he would dart out. He didn't, so after a while I peeked inside: it was not the old devil, but the little ladies snoring inside...”

Timoth paused. How could man tell a father his beloved girl was in such a plight? Two fathers to boot, one of them the highest earthly authority in Sunspear and as far as he was concerned in Westeros and the whole world, for Timoth along with most of the Dornish did not make much of King's Landing, and the other with a notorious short fuse.

“What are you _not_ telling us?” Doran rose up from his desk, no longer an anxious parent, but the ruling Prince in all his might. “It's no time to mince words: whatever it could be, I shall hear it.”

“I told her to keep an eye on them, and get some hot milk ready in the meantime, for when Princess Arianne and her cousin Tyene...” Timoth drew a breath; he was well and truly cornered. “I hate to say it, my Prince, I have been in House Martell service since your late Lady mother, the Seven's blessing on her, and my father and my grandmother before me, but I am afraid the little ladies are sleeping off a hangover.”

“On which ground do you accuse our daughters of getting drunk?” After listening the whole tale as patiently as he could best manage, Timoth's last words tipped Oberyn over the edge and he could no longer hold his tongue. “I will not have the blabbering mouth of an age-dimmed flunkey pour slanders...”

Doran cut him off with a sharp hand raise and Timoth turned to the youngest Prince a reproachful, hurt glare.

“By the evidence of a flagon at their side, my Prince, bearing the cockatrice golden seal and emptied to the dregs. Lord Gargalen's tribute from Salt Shore last vintage: strongwine of the finest, to be sure.”

The gray-haired man had landed the final blow and Oberyn slumped down.

Nymeria made quite a scandalized face, but even as she started raising a brow, her father shot a glare so scalding a dragon would quail, and hissed “Not a word, Nym.” before she could utter one of her witty remarks.

The Prince of Dorne was not cowered yet.

“Mellario is right: you are a bad influence on them!”

“Is it everything my fault? I was already a novice in Oldtown when I first got drunk, I remind you.”

“So according to your informed opinion, we should deem ourselves lucky girls don't attend the Citadel and they are still too young to get laid and end up with child: for that's exactly how Oba...”

“Don't you even speak her name, my daughter has nothing to do with it! Pray tell, who is the strongwine quaffer in here? They don't need moon tea just now...”

“Our twins could use a hot welcome instead!”

“But a post-hangover posset.” Oberyn went on “Your stuff is sweeter than pomegranate juice, and stronger than wildfire!”

“Mellario finds it goes nicely with wintercakes.” grumbled Doran.

“Lame excuse: as if your wife were not at the Gardens as of now.”

“If she ever finds out...”

“ _We_ are in for a hot welcome indeed.”

“Hot? She will strip us of our skin as soon as she knows!”

The brothers' murderous stares turned into the same panicked look: as one man they dashed down the stairs, swearing at each other like troopers.

With a quizzical frown, Nym called her sisters to council.  _That does not sound really princely, does it?_

_Maybe not._ Obara shrugged back. _However_ ,  _Princes or not, that's the family we have got._

Sarella smiled coolly, ever the optimistic.  _No worries: ever heard drunken sailors?_

Nym considered. As far as cussing goes, not even sailors could be a match to Dornish Princes, and as Obara had said, with such Princes they were stuck. Well and so: between her and her sisters, they could try to keep them in check; and all in all, not even Nymeria would trade her unprincely family for the royal one.

 

 


End file.
